


Love For Another More

by hwe (plumroot)



Series: Love For Another More [1]
Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, and junhwe will be hopeless in all of them because it's junhwe, for everyone else: this is my attempt at a jundong reincarnation fic because yall know we need it, it will be a long ASS ride so hold on tight, there will be many lives, this is only a prologue so don't get too excited and i'm talking about you TWO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumroot/pseuds/hwe
Summary: "One year, one month, one day, even one second less... makes it less than a lifetime!"





	Love For Another More

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue of the reincarnation series I'm attempting. Other works related to the reincarnation umbrella are linked in the series. Enjoy.
> 
> (The song in both scenes is My One and Only Love by Ella Fitzgerald)

**Seoul,**

_"I give myself in sweet surrender_

_My one and only love”_

 Junhwe comes home to find Donghyuk dancing around in his apartment. He seems freshly-showered, hair wet and fluffy, and wears one of Junhwe's lazy shirts, _so_ mistreated by the washing machine that it now falls low over his pretty thighs. In one hand, he holds chocolate milk in a wine glass, and in the other hand a fork with a slice of pineapple on the end.

       It's the later part of the afternoon, and the curtains on one side of the living room are drawn for some reason, so there is one window where the sunlight spills through. Donghyuk waltzes between light and dark, skin all golden and honey one moment under the light, and then not in the shadows. He still glows (Junhwe promises). He takes a bite of pineapple mid-step, sucking the juice dribbling down his fork, before continuing, and then taking a short pause to sip his chocolate milk. And then continuing.

       A sweet crooning from the corner. Junhwe's vinyl player spins; a velvety voice, piano keys, saxophone. It must be the afternoon warmth, or the slow singing, or that Junhwe is standing in the dimmer half of the apartment. His eyelids feel heavy, almost as if this whole scene is lulling him to sleep.

       When Donghyuk notices Junhwe rooted in front of the door, he smiles brightly but says nothing, hips swaying gently side to side as he drifts towards him. Junhwe opens his arms in embrace, but the smaller male stops him, instead pushing the half-bitten piece of pineapple into his mouth. He watches keenly as Junhwe eats, as if to say _It's good, isn't it?_

       Junhwe drinks the rest of the chocolate milk, a strangely pleasant sweetness now sitting in the back of his throat, and Donghyuk puts the wine glass and fork on the table before coming back to Junhwe, leading him by hand into the living room.

       _I love you_ , Junhwe thinks as they put their hands on each other and dance around, awfully out of time with the music (of course). It's Junhwe's fault; his sense is bad so he just follows after Donghyuk. He's always a second or two too late for the music, slow feet, but it's alright. Donghyuk giggles. _I love you. I love you._

It's peculiar; suddenly Junhwe cannot tell whether this moment is real, or just one of his dreams. But it doesn’t matter, not really. Because with every kiss, there is another tin of pineapple to eat, another bottle of chocolate milk to drink. Because with every step on the hardwood floor, Junhwe's heart pounds even louder.

        _I am so, so in love with you._

 

 

**San Francisco, 1980**

_"The touch of your hand is like heaven_

_A heaven that I’ve never known”_

Saxophone, slow piano, velvety voice, brown leather chairs, yellow lamps, expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Junhwe swirls his whiskey in its glass, reclining comfortably in his seat. The singer on the small stage, a pretty lady in a dazzling red dress, sways her ample hips ever so gently to the song, the entire room watching with rapt attention.

       Junhwe takes a sip of the amber liquid, his plain expression shifting to a slight grimace as the smoky bitterness enters his mouth. He knows he'll never _like_ it, even though he orders the same drink every time at this bar. But it's a taste he can get used to, unpleasant as it is.

       As the singer drawls her final note to an end, people bringing their hands together, Junhwe's gaze falls past the stage and lands across the room on a svelte figure sitting alone at a table, like himself. Shadows completely engulfed the other half of the bar, but when the man lifts his head and reveals the side of his face perfectly to the chandelier light, Junhwe recognises the blonde hair, sloping nose, and sharp jawline.

       With a swift movement by the other male, all is gone and Junhwe is left, again, staring straight into the shadows. As he observes from afar, ignoring for the most part the jazz stage which he had come for, Junhwe feels strangely akin to a man waiting for the sun to come out, hungry for the light, craving the delicious sting of a sunburn as heat skitters across his skin.

       Maybe he should thank the guy, he thinks. Maybe he should also grow a pair and walk over. Introduce himself properly, without the badge or gun. Maybe. Junhwe entertains this idea as he beckons the server.

       He watches, unmoving, as the server drifts across the room, approaches the table and places a drink. The man turns around slowly in his chair, eyes following as the server points towards Junhwe's direction. Admittedly, Junhwe never thought this far when he asked for the server in the beginning. He barely knows whether he should respond to the other male's small smile by raising his glass (like an asshole) or just smiling back, when the man, with the drink in his hand, begins to saunter across the room.

       "I'll need something stronger than this, darling." His voice is like honey. The moment he opens his mouth Junhwe cannot look away. He sets the fruity cocktail on the table and slips into the seat across Junhwe, studying him with an unreadable expression.

        "M-my bad… Is there something else I can get for you?"

        Junhwe can’t believe himself: he stuttered. He realised he is infinitely bolder with a badge on his chest and gun attached to his hip. The man sits across him, a slice of skin glowing through the opening of his silky grey shirt, eyes glossy and lips pale. Junhwe wonders whether he made a bad choice.

      _I made a bad choice_ , he answers himself almost immediately when the smaller male wearily grins, and reaches over for his, _his_ , glass of whiskey. "This will do." Junhwe nearly loses his wits when the man's lips ghost over his own lip marks. He watches dazedly as half the liquid disappears, a throb at the man's slender neck.

       Junhwe's arm drops from air. There is something obscene about the way the man then rubs a thumb over the corner of his lip, catching a glistening drop of alcohol. "I wanted to thank you for your help that night. We managed to get him without much of a struggle - well, one bullet that grazed my colleague's shoulder. But it could have been a lot worse…" This is when he notices the man's expression hasn't changed. "Oh… uh… I'm the detective… at _The Iconic_ … the arrest at the club…?" He makes sure his hand isn't too sweaty and hovers it above the table. "My name is Junhwe, by the way. Jun, if it's easier."

       "Junhwe," repeats the man softly. His enunciation is perfect, the same way it sounds coming from Junhwe's parents and Korean friends. He idly glances at Junhwe's hand but does not reciprocate the gesture. "Ezra."

       Swallowing, hard, Junhwe brings his hand down for the second time that night. "Nice to meet you, Ezra."

       The blonde let his fingertip slowly circle the rim of Junhwe's glass. His shoulders are folded in towards his body, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Junhwe, who up until this was lax in his chair, finds himself leaning towards the other man, tipped on the edge of his seat and desperately waiting for any slight movement.

       "What's a handsome detective doing here, all alone?"

       Junhwe thinks his heart stopped beating. "Just recuperating," he sputters. "Someone told me this is the best jazz bar in San Francisco. You?"

      Junhwe soon realises the other man isn't really listening. He watches Junhwe, but it is not Junhwe he is seeing.

       When he tilts his body ever so slightly forward, his voice drops, suddenly soft and quiet; and his gaze, which should continue to haunt Junhwe as the most chilling and beautiful thing he has ever seen, is watery and sad, but, at the same time, completely cold.

       "Have you ever been in love, Junhwe?"

       _This_ is when his heart stops beating.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that's the prologue!!! I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know your thoughts!!


End file.
